


Let me give it to you kinda straight

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Boys Putting Things In Holes, F/M, Lots of Thinking, M/M, Open Marriage, Sexual Experimentation, Sexuality Crisis, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: Move along, nothing to see here, just some boring heteros, move along.
Relationships: Erin Sköld/Tim Sköld, Ginger Fish/Tim Sköld
Kudos: 3





	Let me give it to you kinda straight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> My aim is to fuck up every human concept with my writing and this time I have come after sexual orientation. Enjoy, if that's your thing.
> 
> English is not my native language, no claims are made in here, but things are put in brackets.

***

Ginger's gay. That's like the first thing Tim learns.

Okay, maybe, not the first, but it is definitely somewhere there in the top ten: the next location is the Nürburgring, the next song is the new shit, the pay is exceptionally good, the boss is an exceptional asshole and under no circumstances do you touch his panties (not that you've ever wanted to), the not actually gay one is all about guitars and tits, you end up dead if you drink with Pogo (which you do, and many photos confirm your decomposing state), the make up you grew out of a habit of applying over the last decade makes you look like a pretty Nazi and your skin itch just a bit, and Ginger... Ginger's gay.

Not that it's any of Tim's business.

Tim isn't prejudiced in any way. Live and let live, and also, seriously, who even cares?

But it turns out, that most people do. The whole crowd. Because it is one of the running jokes around the circus that he's joined and, jokes aside, it is mentioned rather often. Like, people inform him of that. And Tim figures okay, someone must be. That's simple. That's statistics.

So what that it is Ginger who is gay?

It doesn't matter.

It's just that most people for some reason care, and Tim is, despite himself, among them.

And he isn't prejudiced against him, it's not that. And he doesn't even think about it often. There are so many other things to consider, like how to survive and that you shouldn't forget to call Erin and where you're going to sleep and when and what that shit you're eating is even made of and if you should be worried about that itch and the next location, the next track, the next day you want to see the light of...

The usual.

It's touring. You get kind of busy.

Yet he does think about that from time to time.

About Ginger being gay, that is.

And it's just because he is aware of the percentage of homosexuals in human population (Christ, he's got to pick some other type of material for his sitting on the toilet reading), he is aware, sure, but with so, so many willing fans around, he wonders why Ginger isn't... enjoying the life of a rock star to the fullest. He wonders what Ginger's even doing there, among all of them, the people who inform newcomers of his romantic orientation, he wonders that, when seeing him sitting in the corner at the afterparty all alone, face a blank page, eyes of a daydreamer, he really wants to come up to him and ask him what he's even doing here. In this lewd circus.

And okay, he wants to ask John the same question sometimes, but at least John appreciates the tits, if not the pot, and he regularly asks himself, he asks himself that every time the pot's involved and Pogo's somewhere way too close to him.

But that is different.

With Ginger he kind of wants to come up to him and ask him _do you not like fun?_

Of course, he doesn't. It isn't any of his business, after all.

But then the next location is Chula Vista, the next song is still the new shit, the number of the autographs becomes uncountable, the panties get mysteriously stolen - and he does.

He simply comes to him and asks. They have had chats.

Weirdly, Ginger answers.

***

"I uh... I don't know," Ginger says, shrugging. "I mean, I'm not like... I don't think that's wrong or something. When other people... do that. Hook up. With fans. I just... It's not really my thing. I'm a bit.. uncomfortable? With new people. So..."

Tim nods.

It isn't really his thing either, though he is pretty comfortable with all sorts of people, old and new alike.

"Yeah, I get it," he says. "I'm not big on all that banging groupies thing either. Gets kinda messy. But..." He pauses, shifting. There is this one person, though, that elevates the awkwardness of the interaction. The one he's questioning about stuff that's personal and none of his fucking business out of the blue. Or maybe it's the questioning itself. Or the interrogator. "I didn't mean just fans. There're tons of other people. And you're..." A fun guy? Not bad looking? Shut up, Tim? "I can bet that dudes come at you. Lots of dudes. You're not the only gay person in this whole... business. Even though sometimes it kinda feels like you are, judging by the fucking talk."

That was his way into this slightly inappropriate conversation. The talk. The jokes. The Ginger being gay thing that literally everybody needs to know of.

Ginger laughs.

"Yeah, I'm not," he says. "Justin's gay. And Melissa. The hairdresser. She's bisexual. I just..." He pauses too. "I think _this_ gets messy. Like, mixing work with... relationships. And you..."

He must be wearing some sort of a face. And he says _oh_.

"You disagree?" Ginger finishes.

Tim shakes his head.

"No, I... Like, it's not a matter of debate, right? But it kinda works for me. Works best for me. Like, fans, yeah, that's... not sustainable? And it was fans for me with Messiah. And just work when I was on my own. Because I'm an obsessive fuck, you know." He chuckles, and Ginger smiles too. "But it's all fun and games and then it just becomes... complicated? But with other people, like, from the industry... They know what it's like. And you've been friends with them and they get it and... For me it's that. For me and Erin. I mean, there're still fans. You party enough and then it's just unavoidable. But yeah. We mostly swing."

"Oh," Ginger says.

But there is no face made on his part, so Tim continues.

"Yeah. Like, with our friends and so on. Long-term stuff. And it's... It isn't messy. I know that many people say that you shouldn't. Mix things. Because it'll ruin both of them. But for me it's been more like... consolidating everything? Just makes all of it better."

Ginger nods.

"Yeah, I... I get it. I'm glad it's... it is like that for you. That you've found the thing that works. 'Cause... long-term is hard. I used to... I used to date, you know, before Manson. Like, relationships and... But then it's just... You're away for months and then when you're back it also... takes weeks just to understand where you're at. That you're at home. And it's not like you aren't busy at home. So it's just... There aren't many people who're willing to do that for you. To wait and... And it's kinda... Uhm..."

"Unfair on the partner, I know," Tim says. He shouldn't forget to call Erin.

Ginger smiles, a bit apologetically.

"Yeah," he says. "So... That's why I'm..."

So _single_ it makes Tim want to start a special _Fuck Ginger_ fund or something.

Tim nods.

"Right..." he says, then chuckles one more time. "Jesus, I feel like a peddler. Like I'm trying to sell promiscuity to you or something."

Ginger laughs, shakes his head.

"It's okay."

"Yeah. I'm not. Like, I'm not trying. To push you into something. Just... Bugs me? Like sex is a part of all of it. Of the lifestyle. So I get kinda upset. That you're not getting your fair share. 'Cause you aren't a monk, right?"

"No," Ginger laughs again.

"So..." Tim goes on. "I just want to help? Shit. God, it's like I'm a fucking pender. And not a very good one too. But it... Like, this is also... It sucks. That just because you're gay you're... Shit. _Shit._ Sorry. I mean, I don't necessarily say it's because of you being..." He huffs. "Have I just dug myself a nice little grave with this?"

Ginger shakes his head once more.

"No," he says. "It's fine. I'm not... offended."

Tim smirks, rubs at his nape, sighs.

"I just wanna do something for you," he says. "Amend the situation. Like, call out to the folks. Check him out. He's cute. He does like fun. Something like that. Can't do much more, can I?"

This is when the casket that he's apparently been stuck at throughout their whole conversation gets accomodated by the ground.

And Ginger just listens to him, reacts to his words in this _no I am completely fine with you being fucking nosy_ way of his, nodding, smiling, engaged in their discussion that is going in circles with no visible path out, with no _hey, by doubting we come the truth and it's right here_ moment, Ginger just has a chat with him, and Tim...

Tim gets an ingenious fucking idea.

"I mean, unless I, donno..." he says, and then it hits him. The lightbulb flashes, and he smiles, just as bright, happy with himself, like a fucking child. "Hey. _Hey._ Do you wanna... That swinging thing. Wanna try it out with us? Me and Erin."

Then Ginger also lights up, cheeks red. And also he starts saying things, even though Tim's already realized what he's just offered here, Tim's instantly aware that it was infinitely dumb, he starts making faces, feeling the urge to scream something like ABORT! ABORT! THERE WAS A FUCK UP! ABORT! at the top of his stupid lungs, he is trying to save the situation, but Ginger speaks before him. And he says things.

"Oh," Ginger says and blushes, and that's when Tim's own utterances reach his brain. "I'm..." He goes on, and that's when Tim attempts to do something, to wipe his memory or hurriedly invent a time travelling device. "Thanks. But, you know..." Ginger responds to Tim's proposition, and that's when Tim starts feeling something heavy crushing down on him. "I'm gay? So..." And here Ginger pauses, and it's that calm before the big storm hits. "I mean... If it was just with you, then I..."

And then they are in the grave together. Buried. Quite professionally.

"Oh," Tim goes too.

And then they just appreciate their new residing place.

A bit later, both their faces nothing but scattered ashes, Tim decides that he at least should try to dig them out, try to do something, since it is all on him. It was him who brought them to the cemetery in the first place.

"You..." he starts. "You like me?"

And maybe that's not the best rescuing strategy, but.

"Uhm..." Ginger says. "I uhm... Like... I meant, if you were... You aren't. But... If you were?"

Tim isn't. Tim is straight. That was established right at the gates, where the cross is hanging.

"If you were... interested, you know," Ginger says. "I mean, I uh... You're... attractive. And I already know you. So..."

"Oh," Tim says again, as Ginger shrugs. "I..."

Tim eyes him for a second, still feeling tension, and then huffs out something, half a laugh, half a disconcerted sigh, and shakes his head.

"Thanks," he says.

Ginger relaxes a bit too and looks away.

"So... " he mutters. "I didn't..."

"Okay," Tim says, wipes his mouth, takes a deep breath. "God. Sorry. I just didn't expect this, okay? That you... That it is me. I mean, if it was... You know, John?"

Ginger lets out a small quiet laugh.

"Yeah," he says. " I uh... He's... attractive too."

"Right," Tim says. "Not gay, though."

"Yeah, no," Ginger nods. "And he's my best friend, so it's... And you. I mean, you're... I'm okay around you. Because I already know you, but we're not... I'm okay. With you."

Tim laughs.

"Yeah, just not right now, since I screwed everything up," he says. "Sorry. Fucking awkward."

"Yeah," Ginger breathes out. "But it's... It's fine. We just... It's just a chat."

Tim puffs out air.

"Right," he says. "I guess it is. I just... Thanks. Really. I'm... flattered? Just don't know what to say. Shit." He smoothes down his hair, wipes his face. "Should we like try to get out of this? It is a fucking grave."

"Yeah, maybe," Ginger says. "Don't know. It's okay."

"Okay," Tim says. "If you say so. I just... hope that you'll be well? With or without a bunch of... admirers. I'm not gonna... That's really none of my business. I just... wish you the best?"

And that's that.

Like, okay, Ginger also say _thank you_ , as if Tim did something good for him, and there is getting up and a bit more talking, about normal things, there is a bit of swiping the whole thing under the rug and going back to their life as it was before the burial, but just a bit. Ginger insists it is all fine.

So that's that.

Only...

Well, it isn't.

***

It isn't that, because Tim keeps thinking about it. Not often, sure, because it is St. Louis, Detroit, then Montreal, because he's busy, he is on tour, but it is more often than before. Than when he was just wondering why Ginger's even there. It is more often, because every time he is reminded that he's gay, which he still is, almost every other day, he adds _and likes me_ , and then sometimes he thinks it on his own, _Ginger likes me_ and adds _that's gay_.

Which kind of bothers him. He's not a bigot. That previous wondering of his, okay, that was understandable. He's always been inclined to figure out people. But what Ginger's even doing there, in the circus, if he's not fucking every clown, isn't what he's thinking now. He's thinking... _Why am I fucking thinking about it all the time_ , that's what he's thinking.

 _What am I even thinking_ , that's what his thoughts are.

When he's not repeating _likes me_ and _gay_ in his mind. Still being nosy in there. On the inside.

He has no idea why. But in Milwakee he starts thinking there must be a reason for this. And by the time they're in Columbus (which is the very next day, but so what), he starts thinking there definitely is.

Because were it something else, some other thing he was constantly mentally repeating, it would've meant something.

So this must too. This does.

It's just he has no idea what it means.

Then there is the last location, and it's West Palm Beach, and the next one is somewhere on the other side of the fucking globe, but Tim keeps thinking. Without any input now. Without any jokes or even seeing the guy (who's gay; who likes him; Ginger) this is all about. On his own. Entirely.

So then, when it's L.A., he decides it's time to talk.

***

"Hey," Tim says, sighing and looking away from the screen: offset, mute, lock, gay, likes me, then transpose, then enough.

Erin also turns to him and turns the volume down.

"Yeah?" she says.

Tim sighs again. The rescuer says something, pointing down, at the shears, and then it is the airbag, the pipe, the cigarette that's threatening to fall onto the ground.

There's going to be a big kaboom - and very soon.

Tim sighs one more time and looks at Erin, who's waiting for him to speak with her eyebrows raised.

"What's up?" she asks.

Tim opens his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what it is he even wants to say here.

The car explodes. Of course.

"You've..." he starts. "You've had sex with women, right?"

Erin laughs, sound melodic.

"Yeah," she says. "And you... Are you having troubles with your memory? Or eyesight?"

Tim can't help but chuckle too.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Fuck off." Erin moves her shoulders, familiar, making him feel warm. "I just... I mean, before me too, right? You'd had girlfriends. Like, relationships."

"Yes," Erin nods.

"And how..." Tim says, struggling for suitable words. "How did you... understand. That you wanted that."

Right. And how did you learn you were straight, Tim. Awesome.

"Uhm," Erin says, regarding him with confusion. "By finding women hot?" She touches her hair, shrugs. "I don't... Why? Why are you asking?"

Tim shifts in his chair. Fucking miserable.

"What's up?" Erin asks, tone light and curious, a smile playing on her lips.

Tim groans.

"Fuck," he says. "There is a... There is a guy. At work. And he's gay."

"Okay," Erin says slowly, nodding him on. "So..."

"So I had a talk with him," Tim goes on, reluctantly, but already sure he's gonna spill it all out now. "Like, you know. A dumb talk about stuff that's none of my concern, because I'm always nosy about things like that."

"Yeah," Erin says, affectionate.

"And I..." Tim says, happy to be an idiot who's loved, but still struggling with verbal expression of his stupidity. "We were chatting and I just... offered him to swing with us?"

Erin laughs.

"To a _gay_ guy?"

Tim puffs out air, rubbing at his forehead.

"I know," he says. "I'm fucking stupid. And I was talking, because he's like... always on his own and shit, and, like, what's the point of being in a band if you don't get to... Shit, I sound like a moron. I am a moron."

"Yeah," Erin says. "But that's why I like you."

"Fuck off," Tim says again. "Fuck. He's just... not getting any. And everybody always talks about him being gay and I just started thinking that it shouldn't be that much of a problem, because that whole circus's huge and... You know. So yeah, I just asked him, and we were chatting, and I said that, but he just... Fuck."

"What? Was he... offended?"

"No, that's the thing," Tim says. "He just... blurted out. That he... That he likes me. Like, that he's gay, so no, but if it was just with me, then he'd---"

"Is he that..." Erin cuts him short. "That..." She makes a gesture, vague, hand in the air near her face, fingers moving in a circle. "The... Who's he? The drummer?"

Tim just looks at her without blinking.

"Yeah," he says at last. "Yeah. Him."

Then Erin fucking giggles. _Giggles_.

Okay, she doesn't, it's just her face goes all weird, a bit tense and twitching, sparkles in her eyes, but he knows that she wants to, so isn't it all the same.

"Hey!" he says. "Do I question _your_ taste in men?"

As if he ever could put her to the blush. As if anybody could.

"No," Erin says. "But mine is good."

"Oh, fuck off."

"What?" she continues. "Haven't you always approved of my choices? The last one seemed to leave you very satisfied."

Tim laughs, looking at her face. She isn't wrong. He was very, very satisfied.

"No, I..." he says. "It's impeccable. Your taste. Just... Can you be gentler with me here? I'm fucking stuck."

Erin hums, tilting her head.

"Stuck on what?" she asks. "Do you like him too?"

Tim breathes in to answer, then just sighs all of the air out.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "I mean, I keep thinking about it, like about the chat and him being gay and liking me and so on, and I've no idea what it means, if it does, am I just obsessing like I do or is it... is it because he's gay and I am a homophobic asshole or..."

"No," Erin cuts him short. "Come on, you aren't."

She looks at him poignantly, invoking the very clear memories of the last swinging episode he was very satisfied with.

He chuckles.

"Okay, right," he says. "I don't get all weird about balls touching and so on, but you know that I've... I've never. Been with a guy. I mean, we talked about it."

"Yeah," she nods. "So what? I still don't understand why you're so anxious about it."

Tim wipes his face, shifts in his chair.

"Because I don't even know if I want it?" he offers. "Him. Don't even know if I want anything. Like I'm fucking fifteen or something."

"You didn't have such problems at fifteen, as far as I am aware," Erin remarks, smirking.

Tim shakes his head, laughing.

"Yeah, no," he says. "It's just... I'm not fifteen? I'm thirty fucking six and figuring out my sexual orientation thanks to a stupid chat is a bit..."

"It's fine," Erin says. "It happens. Just relax. You like the guy."

"Do I?"

Erin purses her lips, considering his question.

"Well, you said you were thinking about it..."

"Yeah, but like... Not like I think about women that I like? More like about track length and chords and timing... Just neurotic stuff. Like, I seriously don't even know why I'm thinking about it. I just... It must mean something? The fact that I am."

"Probably," Erin nods, slowly.

"So..." Tim says, then throws his arms open, showing his palms. "What? What does it mean? That I'm... That I want him?"

"Probably. Don't know."

Tim huffs out air.

"But..." Erin goes on. "Relax. Let's say you do. Do you want to... Like, do you want to do something about it?"

Tim rubs at his forehead, looks at the ceiling.

"Don't know. Maybe. But like... what?"

Erin narrows her eyes at him just a bit.

"I'd suggest... an interaction?" she says, tone amused. "A private one. Like, just you two in a secluded place, maybe some candles..."

"Fuck off!" Tim says, then laughs. "God. That part I get, thank you very much. Don't have any troubles there. Just... Should I? Try something. Because he's... He's a person, not an experiment, you know? And what would I be offering him? Hello, I've been obsessively reciting our conversation from a month ago in my brain and that's kinda gay, wanna go fuck with me so that I reach a robust conclusion? That's... I doubt anybody would be happy to hear that. I'm not even sure I actually like him."

"Hm," Erin says. "Yeah, I got it... Look, then, maybe, you should figure that out first? If you're attracted to him or not."

"Yeah, and how do I do that? It's... I literally don't know what to do. This shit has never happened to me and usually I don't need to deliberate mentally for weeks to learn if I find somebody hot, I just... find them hot?"

Erin laughs softly.

"I know," she says. "Look, sometimes it can be confusing. Just... Think about it? But not like this. Like, you should imagine situations and see how you react. Sexual situations. And think if you like that or not and if you do then what it is you like and want and so on... Just imagine yourself with him. Or just with a guy, any guy, and roll with it. See where it takes you."

"Grave? That chat definitely led me right there," Tim sighs, bites his lips, gets up. "Okay. Okay. I'll try that. Thirty six isn't too old to learn new things about yourself. It is all fine and I'm not an asshole, I just probably - maybe - like him. Okay. I'll try that. Thanks. Thank you. Really."

"You're welcome," Erin smiles. "You finished with the track?"

"God, no," Tim shakes his head, picking up his cigarettes off the table. "It's even worse than this. Fuck it. I'm done. I'm tired. I need to unwind."

He comes closer to her, sits on the couch.

"Wanna watch the movie?" she asks, picking up the remote control, nodding at the TV.

"No way," he says, pulling the remote control out of her hands. "Fuck the movie. Fuck everything." He swings his arm over her shoulders, leaning in. "How about we order something and eat and talk and you tell me everything about that new mare you're in love with. What's her name again? Daisy?"

She pshaws at him.

"It's not Daisy and you know it, Tim."

She pshaws at him, but keeps her hand in his, letting him touch her rings and fingers, and there're sparkles in her eyes, there is something there that makes him look, look in her eyes and listen to everything she tells him about Lavigne Cordelia Grace III who is indeed lovely and not Daisy (yet), there is something in her eyes that makes him look and listen, makes him warm, that makes him smile.

So he just smiles, touching her hand.

***

His... problem, though, doesn't get resolved.

And it's not like there is anything wrong with Erin's advice, it is good advice like it always is, there is a reason he asked her to help him and not anybody else, she's smart and kind and attentive, she understands him like very few people ever have, the thing she told, the thing she proposed he do is that, is the solution, it must be, it's just his execution that is poor, it lacks success.

He tries it, tries imagining being with him, with Ginger who is gay and likes him, and it doesn't really work, because why would he be with him, why would they be together, what is the explanation? He also tries coming up with one, with a scenario of flirting or circumstances that simply lead to that, but fails, every time, and what did he expect, he is not a fucking writer of sexy pulp fiction, is he, he is just left annoyed with everything he thinks of. And when he doesn't, it's plain weird. Okay, yes, he is mostly sure that he is not a homophobic asshole (most likely) as a result of that, but making progress? Isn't realistic.

Because okay, let's say you're kissing with him, yeah, just out of the blue, who fucking cares, Tim, you're kissing and what, Tim, how do you feel, where do you want to go from there?

Like fuck he knows.

He knows he doesn't get all fussy about kissing, that he knows. Or about all other things he imagines, all other things that feel... appropriate to conjure, that might be walking right next to the line, but aren't crossing it. He wouldn't want to do that.

That's...

That's the issue he runs into when he decides that maybe the key to this is less imagining and more visual aid.

And it's a wrong move on his part, because the visial aid only complicates all of it, adding navigation problems. Because he already knows he's not put off by gay porn and this is not the first time he is exposed to this type of content, he's watched his fair share of it, both solo and with company, and not only he's not put off, sometimes he is even able to get into it, it is just naked people moaning and making squelching sounds and closeups of various human orifices and liquids, and he doesn't have anything against any of it, he is very much for it, so... So he has enjoyed this type of content, both solo and with company, and his companion (go somewhere nice with her before the next tour leg; don't forget) is aware, they've discussed it, she is bisexual, she's had relationships with women, she's fond of threesomes, foursomes and other combinations with people she's fond of, she's into swinging, she is smart, kind, funny, she understands him, he's married to her and it has been nothing but delight, and he... He must be straight. Open-minded, inclined to experiment, but straight. Gay porn or not, he's never done it with a guy. He's never wanted to. He'll tell her if he ever develops such a wish.

So yeah...

The question is: has he?

The question is: does he fucking want it? Him. Ginger.

And he is nowhere closer to finding the answer. He's just watched quite a few hours of porn and it's been getting more and more weird and specific, because okay, he's fine with just two (three; four; whatever) dudes banging, he already knows that, but how does it help, he's not into them and they aren't Ginger anyway. So then it's searching for porn with actors that are... reminiscent of him. It's guys who're skinny, long haired, in their late thirties, and some of those searches are tougher than the others, and also it's searching for porn with actors who look as similar as possible to Ginger to stare at and think if this is arousing and if he wants it and how it would be if those weren't actors but them in bed and imaginining some other things and maybe even nutting a few times and then meeting the very man in the morning and having to talk about track length and timing with him and maybe that's a bit intrusive, Tim. Maybe you should fucking stop.

Maybe the very man is the one you should finally talk to.

Weirdly, the very man agrees.

***

"Hey," Tim says, creepily following Ginger into the tour bus. It's been Canberra, Osaka, a lot of flights, and now it is Denver. "Can I..."

Ginger jumps a bit and looks around and puts the thing he's holding (it is a thing of John's; must be) down, waiting for him to continue.

Tim clears his throat.

"Can we..." he starts again. _Fuck so that I stop obsessing_. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," Ginger nods, still waiting for him.

Tim exhales audibly and also looks around (nail file, it's a nail file) and worries his fingers between each other, even though the words aren't located there.

"It's..." he says, glancing at Ginger and then at the bunk, his own bunk, making a gesture. "Can you... It's a..."

It's definitely not a standing talk, and he is a reluctant interlocutor. At best.

Ginger sits down, though, so Tim has to do it too, and he does, sits down on his own bunk and it's a bit too close, they are sitting a bit too close to each other, too close for this talk, but it's not like he can get up and away now. That would be...

He opts for shifting inconspicuously, lifting his cigarette package off the table and putting some distance between them, as much as the bunk allows.

He clears his throat again.

"Uh," he says.

"Is something wrong?" Ginger asks him.

"No, no," Tim shakes his head. "I just..." Okay. "Okay. That... Remember that chat we had? About the... lifestyle?"

Pathetic.

"Yeah," Ginger says, nodding slowly. "Are you... Look, I'm not mad at you or anything, it's fine, so...."

Tim manages a short laugh.

"Yeah, I got it," he says. "It's not about that. I'm just..."

Ginger raises his absent eyebrows at him.

"God, I just..." Tim says, then wipes his face with his palms, then makes his own nonverbal cue before putting his misery into phrases. It's probably puppy eyes that he makes. "I promise I will start talking in a second, can you just... promise me something too?"

"Sure," Ginger says, moving his shoulders. "Of course. Wha---"

"Like, promise me if we end up in a grave because of me again we'll just forget about it and everything will be fine?" Tim blurts out the utterance in one go, hurried, nervous, fucking pathetic.

God, was it easier with Erin.

"Oh," Ginger says. God, was being nosy easier. God, was that a huge mistake."Okay. No problem. I mean, Manson probably will hit me again one of these days and I lose all of my memory anyway, so..."

Tim laughs, unwinding, looking at how Ginger cradles his latest panties owner related injury.

"Fuck, Ginger..." he says, shaking his head. "Okay. Alright. Then I..." Here it goes. "I've... I've been thinking about that. About... you."

Ginger blinks at him. Of course, he blinks. That wasn't the most articulate explanation, was it?

Tim pulls out a cigarette, flicks his lighter.

"I mean," he says, then takes a drag, prolonging the gracious pause for a bit longer. "I mean, we talked that time, about you... you know, being gay and everything, and then I said... that, that thing about swinging and you, you said... fuck. So I've been thinking about that? And I just... I think you need to know? That I've got to tell you. Because I've just been thinking and... well, not just thinking? I mean... fuck. I mean, I watched some porn and imagined it was you and I just don't want any... I mean, it's kinda inappropriate and I..."

"Oh," Ginger breathes out, and for a fraction of a second breathing the smoke in doesn't help Tim much, but the moment doesn't last. Luckily. "It's... It's okay. That you've... You know, everybody does it? So..."

He smiles at him, and yeah. Sure. Of course, everybody does it, just maybe not whilst in a fucking grave, but still.

Still that calms Tim down a bit more.

"Yeah," he says, then laughs. "Right. I just... That's not all? I mean, I'm glad you're not... offended or anything, it's just I... I've been thinking about it? About you saying that you like me and... you being gay and so on. And I thought I should tell you, because I'm... I don't really kno---"

"Are you..." Ginger starts, cutting him short. Which is for the better. "Asking me out?"

Tim gestures something, moving his shoulders and hoping it is not a shrug.

"I... don't know?" he offers. Like a moron. "Yeah? I just really... I've just been thinking about it and... you, and that... I guess I like you and I wanna... fuck. _Fuck_. I get it that it just sounds awful and nobody needs that and if you tell me to fuck off I will and I will never bring it up again, but I've been thinking about it and I guess you should know and I don't know what it---"

"You want to... try?" Ginger asks.

And this time Tim shrugs, just throws his arms open, showing his palms, because yeah, right, it kinda is this short, this straightforward.

"Yeah. Right. Yeah. I want to _try_ ," he says. He laughs, shaking his head. "Inscribe it on the fucking tombstone."

"Wh... what?" Ginger blinks once more, huffing out air. "What tombstone?"

"Oh," Tim says and then there is a little turmoil, because he has forgotten about the cigarette he hasn't even been smoking, and it almost burns his fingers, and he puts it out after he finally finds the ashtray he put fuck knows where. "Sorry. It's just..." He pulls out another cigarette, then one more, offers the second one to Ginger, and Ginger nods. He lights both of the smokes up, takes a drag, exhales. "I've just been feeling like I am digging myself an especially deep grave with all of this, you know? With that chat and me being nosy and with all the thinking and the porn and wondering if I am just a homophobic dick because of that and..."

"No," Ginger says. "Of course, you aren't. You're... Come on. You've never..."

"Yeah?" Tim says. "Fuck, I sure hope I haven't. I... I fucking hate that shit. And that everybody always jokes about it with you and just... And now I'm kinda doing that as well and thinking about it all the time and this... _wanting to try_ , that's like the worst cliche, like, I know everybody hates it and it's for a good rea---"

"It's okay," Ginger says, stopping the fountain. Thankfully. "It's really fine. I don't mind. I uh... I like you. So..."

Tim sighs, letting out his relief.

"Oh. Okay. Fuck, okay. Thanks? Thank you."

Ginger smiles, looking down for a moment.

"It's... It's okay."

"Yeah," Tim says, then looks around, pats his thighs. "So... That a date?"

And Ginger laughs, quiet, and accepts both his pathetic offer and his pathetic smirk, and...

"I mean, it could be something else..." Tim goes on. "Like, details later? Because I..." He gestures at himself and at his own state. "Okay? I mean, John must be going crazy about that nail file right now and I..."

"Oh!" Ginger jumps, looking around too, hurried, nervous. "Shit. I uh..."

Tim laughs.

"Yeah," he says, and that is that, and Ginger gets up and says a few more words, confirming their deal and trying to assure him it is really all fine and no brain hemorrhaging caused by Manson will be needed, Ginger gets up and picks up that nail file it is a bit of a wonder John hasn't yet come to collect himself and leaves, and that is really that, and Tim exhales the whole volume of his lungs, hearing the door closing, and leans back on the wall, sliding down and closing his eyes.

That's that, and fuck, does he need to call Erin.

***

And of course it's something else.

Of course, it's not a date, Tim doesn't do dates, hasn't done since he was fifteen and even then it was something different, he's into swinging and it is not an accident that he's into that, so it is not a date. No candles are involved.

They just agree that they are both grown ups and that, since Tim's already familiarized himself with explicit content, it is about sex, not having dinners at fucking restaurants or visiting casinos or roller coasters or some other nonsense, they just agree they should simply meet - at Ginger's.

And it would be more comfortable for Tim at his own house, because his own house is where he usually conducts his sexual activities with friends they have invited, but Ginger has his own worries, and there being _them_ , there being Erin, at home, not in itself, that worries him, and Tim says he can always ask her to give them space and time, but Ginger says he wouldn't want to incovenience her that much, and Tim agrees that they should meet at Ginger's, because he's done enough thinking for the time being and considering if he's an asshole for asking his wife to leave while he is figuring out if he is gay or not (bi; it's bi, not gay) isn't something he wants to think about at all.

So they meet at Ginger's.

And it is not a date and it's okay.

It really is, they have had chats, and Ginger's not the only one who's okay with Tim, Tim is also okay with him and if he's a bit anxious, which he is, he'll live. And he is fine, while they have another chat, while Ginger shows him around, while all of it isn't yet related to the purpose of him being there, but then they run out of all things casual, then there are pauses and their eyes are meeting, and usually for Tim that would be a cue to start something else.

In this instance, Tim only sighs.

"Look, I..." he says and sighs. He's sitting on the couch in Ginger's living room Ginger has shown him around, and Ginger isn't very close, he's in the armchair opposite of him, looking like he always does. Politely absent. "Fuck. I usually start doing something at this point, okay? Like, shrink the distance and use proximity to create more intimacy and all that shit, but... But I'm new to this, alright? I need help. I literally have zero experience. So I only know how to make things worse. Should I... Should I start bitching about my crazy ex? That would sure make this into a flop."

Ginger laughs, responding, repairing the connection that was wearing thin.

"Sorry," he says, then shrugs. "I'm just... a bit nervous? I haven't... You could? If you've had. A crazy ex, I mean. Have you?"

Tim blinks at him in disbelief a few times, but okay. Okay. Grave it is.

"No?" he offers, rubs at his nape. "No, not really. They were all nice. Or maybe... Yeah, there were crazy ones, but not like... bad crazy? And I am not a paragon of mental health myself, so... You know, you don't really become a good musician if you aren't at least a bit obsessed? And I am _very_ obsessed. And good too, I guess." He laughs, and Ginger too. "Thanks. Anyway. No crazy exes. Just Erin and our friends. Like I told you. And Erin's great. So... And there were no guys. Just... never wanted to? Before... this. You. I'm not opposed and there definitely have been... Well, I'm really okay with balls touching and seeing the other dude's private parts. _Really_ okay. Just... That's it? I'm afraid I don't have much to submit here either."

He shrugs, shows Ginger his palms, then shifts, leans back.

"What about you?"

He's nervous too, and not a bit, but this, being fucking nosy, running his mouth, this he can do. He has experience. Even with this exact guy. Who's gay. Who likes him. Who he's about to have sex with. If he is.

Ginger blinks.

"What? Sorry."

"What about you? Crazy exes. Or just exes. Tell me about yourself."

Like it is one of those speed dating things. Because okay, they are commited to it now. They are going down. They will be buried deep.

But Ginger doesn't.

Well, he does, but he doesn't say a lot. Doesn't really tell him anything. Just that there were no crazy exes, that there were a few guys, a couple boyfriends, he's had relationships and it was fine, and that's it.

"It was okay," he says, and Tim believes him, it's not that. It's just...

"And you..." he starts. It's just he's thought of it, he has, and now he has got to ask. Has to. "Fuck, okay. I thought of it, so... Better say it, right? And I've no idea why I am asking this, okay? But... top or bottom? You, I mean."

And this is definitely making it all worse.

And he has some ideas. The usual. That it is kinda none of his fucking business, though maybe now it is, because it's relevant, though he doesn't really care, he's okay with any anwser, he simply wants to know. Or does he?

Is he just curious - or is he just a dick?

Unlike Erin, Ginger is put to the blush rather easily. He doesn't blush, but he looks like he just might. He shifts, looking away.

"It's not..." Or maybe he's not embarrassed, maybe, Tim, fuck asking that. "You know, it's usually... Most people switch? It isn't fixed. So... Me too? I... But. I mean, I've, I've done both. Just maybe... Bottom? Usually. More often."

Tim smiles. It's a bit tricky, but he does.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, I know that... I know that it's not fixed. God. Whatever. I'll be the homophobic asshole. Can't avoid it, huh? Fuck it. So yeah. I..." He'll dig some more. Pick up the spade. Whatever. All is wrong, so just go on. "My ass isn't innocent too, by the way. Like, isn't innocent at all. So I get it. It's pretty pleasant."

And this time Ginger blushes. Really blushes.

And in hindsight, blurting out things about the penetrative state of your own asshole makes quite a good move.

And it is cute? Ginger blushing. It is kind of cute.

Him being gay and all.

Tim licks his lips and leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs.

"What do you like?" he asks. "In general. When having sex."

And even though usually he doesn't ask that like this, even though there're still who knows how many feet between them, they're sitting on their own couch, in their own armchair like two nervous idiots who don't know what they're even doing, even though Ginger doesn't answer him, doesn't really answer, just shrugs and blushes, looks at him, opening his mouth as if to answer and then closing it, even though it is all true, it is still good.

It's also a good move, because it makes Tim move.

It finally solves the puzzles for him.

"Uhm," Ginger says. "I... Don't know, maybe..."

"Okay, I'll go first," Tim says, then opens his mouth too and closes it and opens it again. "Fuck. I... Should be something... something not about tits and pussies, right? Cuz that's... That's not germane. I'm... I kinda like holes? Like, any holes. And mine too, like that's pretty pleasant. Really pleasant. Anal, that is. Me being... the hole. But also... looking? And I guess guys included. Like, just looking at how things get into holes? Any holes. Any things. And the sounds. And... Fuck. Jesus, why do I always sound like a complete moron?"

He gestures, wide, exasperated at himself, raking his fingers through his hair and looking at Ginger being red, bright as a street light, thanks to him.

Him and his fucking love of human orifices.

"It's..." Ginger mutters, glancing at him. "It's fine. I just... Don't know what to tell---"

It - _his confession_ \- would've been an outright disaster anyway, even without all of this, wanting to try and being here, and with all of this...

"Fuck," Tim says, cutting Ginger short. "Fuck it. God. Can I just come closer to you and we'll do something? Like, anything. Like... kiss. I like kissing. Holes and kissing. Can we?"

With all of this, Tim figures he needs to shut his mouth.

And tight.

And Ginger stutters, blinks and lick his lips, as if caught off guard, and looks away, around, and then nods.

"Y-yeah," he says and nods. "I uh... I like it too. We... Yeah."

And Tim says nothing.

Tim just gets up, because all of this babbling produced so much kinetic energy in him, he's ready not to just get up but jump and reach some significantly high point in the skies and break some record, he just gets up and walks to Ginger, to his armchair, saying nothing and kind of... shaking, but within, waiting for him to reciprocate and impatient.

Because Ginger gets up too, but slower.

And then Tim exhales, breathes in before the dive - and slams head first into the firmament.

They kiss.

Well, Tim kisses Ginger and after a few bits he kisses Tim back and it's okay, alright, it's fine, the usual, the lips, the tongue, the teeth, it's pretty pleasant and familiar, just no need to bend, because it's Erin who is shorter, but not everybody is, not everybody was, so whatever, it's really nice, lips, teeth, tongue and buzzing, ringing somewhere around his nape, somewhere in the back, the thoughts and questions about what should happen next, what will, all of those getting there, gathering - and then there is Ginger's hand between his shoulderblades.

Then Ginger lets out a sound right into his mouth, lips, teeth, tongue and pulls him closer, putting his hand right on his spine, palm warm, palm even, maybe, even hot.

Tim shivers.

Tim shivers and not slightly, he kinda even jumps, not up to heaven, but he does, he jumps and flinches, pulls away.

"What..." Ginger says, face worried, scared, really close. "Are you..."

He doesn't finish, swallows, hard.

Fuck.

"No, no," Tim says, then swallows too, exhales. "It's okay. I'm not... There's no freaking out. No gay panic. Just... First timer here? Please be... don't... I just need help."

Weirdly, Ginger relaxes. They kiss again.

Tim, though, doesn't.

They kiss, and Ginger touches him and pulls him closer, and runs his hand down his spine, over the shoulders, the shirt and - _oh_ \- under it, he cups his nape, brushes his fingers over his neck, the back of it, and pulls him closer, kissing, lips and teeth and tongue and hands, he touches him and licks at him and as Tim's tongue slips in his mouth he touches it with his, closes his lips around it and - _oh_ \- kind of sucks at it a bit and that is...

That is kind of hot, Ginger's definitely hot, his hands and body, mouth, and they kiss, and Tim thinks things, does not relax, he thinks, he's _analyzing_ , he's worrying, thinks does he like it and what it is he likes because he does and where does he want to go from there and will he, should he, can he, because he is not hard, well, it twitches, his cock twitches, it is not completely dead there, and Ginger's hands are on his back, his skin, because the shirt is gone, because he started helping Ginger pull it off without stopping with the kissing, just moaning some sounds out and getting in the way much more than helping, if he's honest, but it is gone and Ginger's touching him and he says, because he thinks, he says _fuck, I seriously don't know where to touch you, but_ and tries to make Ginger's shirt gone as well, but mostly does harm to buttons and touches Ginger's tenth rib or sternum or some other part of his - _male_ \- body, some patch of skin under his clavicle or right above his navel, nonsense, pure nonsense, idiocy, because is this even pleasant, because it's not, it simply can't be, it can't make...

Ginger's hard.

And Tim discovers that on accident, he isn't looking for it, not on any quest or not on that one yet, they are just kissing, breathing sounds into each other's mouths, lips, tongues and teeth, touching and kissing and Tim is also still combatting Ginger's shirt, because he's stubborn and this is embarrassing, he knows how to unbutton things, he just gets pressed to Ginger, because he pulls him closer, because they're kissing and they are pretty close, and his own thigh gets wedged between Ginger's and then...

Then it's a cock. He knows that. Doesn't need to fucking think. He's not fifteen. He knew back then. It is a cock, and it is hard, and Ginger's hard, he's hard _despite_ , and Tim freezes.

He shivers, makes a stupid sound, freezes.

"Are you okay?" Ginger asks him, looking in his dumb eyes, at his dumb face and holding it, his head, hand on his nape and on his lower back.

"Uh-huh," Tim says, then nods, then... "Just." ...wedges his thigh between Ginger's, now on purpose. Presses. Rubs.

And then says _fuck._

He says that, because Ginger moans, loud, with an open mouth, looking at him, grip going tense, hands on his nape and his lower back, palms warm, hot, now almost burning, and yeah, it's Ginger who is hard, but Tim will fucking get there too and soon, if this is to continue.

"Fuck," he says. "Show me your bedroom?"

If someone asked him about the color of the walls in there or the furniture right after they continued and then finished, that someone'd be a nosy asshole.

And Tim wouldn't be able to say a single thing. Tim doesn't know. Tim's not sure there is even a room. Not sure there are walls. Fuck them.

He's pretty sure about cocks.

He's sure the cocks are hard, both of them are hard and naked, naked _despite_ , despite him being there, participating in undressing, messing things up, despite it they are hard and naked, close and hugging, touching, cocks and chests and backs and thighs and ribs and sternums, skin and patches, patches of skin he's never thought of as... appealing, okay, he has, but that was an inappropriate experiment that ended up in nutting a few times, but not like that, now it is definitely appealing and he doesn't need to fucking think about it, he mostly doesn't think, and if he does, it's what he always thinks, the usual, the lips, the eyes, the hands, the holes and now also the cock, because there is no pussy, but so fucking what, he thinks that and also, when it comes to mind, he thinks _congratulations, Tim_ and _welcome to the club_ and _bi, not straight_ and _bi, not gay_ , because it comes to mind, he thinks that, but mostly he does not.

He doesn't need to. It's fucking hot. He wants it. Ginger. He is hot. He wants him. He is hard. It is that simple. That straightforward.

 _Why haven't I done it sooner_ , this he thinks. _Why haven't I just fucking done it?_

But mostly doesn't.

Things kind of just advance. With no effort.

So they get naked and in bed, if there is one, they lie down, kiss and touch, they wrap their hands around each other's cocks and touch each other, necks and chests and lips, two pairs of balls and only one nipple ring, all that, they moan, curse, breathe into each other's mouths and faces, get sweaty, hard, aroused, really into it - and then Tim says something about holes.

About things getting in them. About fucking.

Because he thinks about it. But with his cock.

And then things kind of pause. All praise to him. They don't get stuck, of course, because after Tim says that, breathless, Ginger answers, saying that it isn't necessary, it's not obligatory, it's okay, they can just do this, this, which they've been doing, because it's really nice, but if he wants to...

And Tim fucking wants.

Holes and things getting in them is something that occupies most of his brain right now.

But things keep being left on pause, they slow down, because after Tim says something like _fuck, yeah_ , Ginger answers, opting out, not outright refusing, because he wants it too, just saying that this, this, which they've been doing, is really nice and he is really hard, aroused, that he's going to come and very soon, and starting this, this, which Tim now has in mind with nothing else in there, it probably won't work out, won't reach the _logical conclusion_ , because he'll probably just come somewhere in the process, because the process might be long, because he hasn't done that in a while and he is sorry, and Tim blurts out that he has.

"Fuck me," Tim says. "You fuck me then."

He then repeats that his hole, which is what he switches to thinking with instead of cock, is far from being innocent and adds that he has done it and quite recently, it's not a special, a rare occasion for him, it's pretty fucking pleasant and he might be straight (bi, bi, not straight), but he's not boring, he says some other things, some stuff about lube and condoms, poses, angles, number of goddamn fingers, of fucking seconds, of the stars he's almost seeing and he says _fuck me_ again and that...

That unpauses things.

That definitely does, that sounds inspiring and hot even to his own ears, so things it does to Ginger...

It makes him move.

"No, fuck, no," is what Tim says next - and it serves a different function. It puts putting things in holes on hold. "Fuck, no, wait."

It also makes Ginger shudder and exhale loudly behind his back, it makes him bend and touch his shoulder and ask him if he's okay and tell him that they can do something else, that it isn't necessary, it's not obligatory, he doesn't have to, it makes him stop.

"No, no," Tim says, breathing heavily and shaking. "We're fucking doing it. I'm not... It's just a bit bigger than what I'm used to, right? I'm... We're doing it. I want it."

And also, though he doesn't say that and doesn't really think, because it _is_ a bit bigger and that is fucking... overwhelming, also his track record sucks, so now he has to, they really have to, otherwise he'll think about it till they make another fucking album or, even more likely, he'll just put things into his own orifice himself and every day to compensate for this, which, also again, he maybe should, and not just things, but something bigger, something bigger than what he's used to, they definitely need to buy a bigger fucking cock with Erin, because this is embarrassing, it's fucking nonsense.

"Just," he says, he hurries out, still breathless, looking at Ginger's worried face over his shoulder, shifting, shaking. "Can we turn over? I usually... on my back? That's how we... how I do it. You know. With uh... It's usually easier like that for me. I like it."

If somebody asked him how he knows that, that would be a weird fucking question.

But...

He smiles.

He smiles, because of course they can, they can turn over, they also can stop and do something else, but if he wants it - which he does - they can go on, it is okay, they don't really have to hurry, more lube, more fingers, Tim on his back like he usually is when he's with Erin, when she fucks him, and it is also okay to say that, it is really hot, apparently, even though they are (probably) in bed together now and Ginger's gay, it's hot and he is hot and Ginger wants him, to fuck him, to put his cock in Tim's very willing, but just a bit hotheaded hole, he does that, Ginger does that, and Tim smiles.

He also says _fuck me_ once again, because, it seems, he likes saying that to him, and then he smiles, feeling Ginger sliding in to the very root, feeling stretched and full and...

"Fuck me," he says and smiles.

And if someone asked, then fuck them, but, it seems, he smiles pretty wide.

It is really, really, really pleasant.

He doesn't count the stars.

And then, a bit later, when he stops seeing them and Ginger too, because he also looks like he has seen them, he starts laughing - and doing that he can't quite stop.

They come.

They fuck, Ginger on top of him, Tim on his back, both moaning and kissing, cursing, looking at each other, breathless, they come, Tim first, Ginger just a few seconds after him, they hug, just lie there on the bed (it is a bed), catching their breaths and sweaty, close and shivering from time to time, they smoke, they talk, they pour water into their mouths to become able to, Tim saying that it was great and (Jesus) _thank you_ , Ginger asking questions, saying that he's glad Tim liked it, that he liked it too and very much, that he likes Tim, Tim kissing him, saying _so what, another date_ and making gay (bi, for fuck's sake) confessions too, they fuck, come, talk and hug and kiss and like each other, and that's that.

That would be that, but then, when they figure they should probably sleep right now, Ginger says one more thing.

"I uh..." he says, and it is one thing, but quite a few words. "You know, I wasn't sure I should tell you, but I've... I mean, I said no, that's why it's... But I've thought about it and maybe I should tell you, I don't know..."

"What?" Tim asks, not following, but shifting closer. "Sure. Tell me."

"Okay," Ginger agrees. "I uh... I've been thinking. About what you said. Offered. Back then. I've thought about it. Like... You. And Erin. You and Erin. And I... Fuck. I want to try?"

And then Tim laughs. And he tries not to, he really tries. But he can feel like his own face goes all weird, tense and twitching, and he lets go, and it all bursts out, and he laughs.

Tim laughs and he can't stop.

Luckily, Ginger laughs with him.

They laugh together.

Idiots.

They are both idiots.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________


End file.
